


She Stared Back

by redhairedqueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon - Book, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Fluff, No Show Elements, but i'm tagging it to be safe, the underage thing is debatable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhairedqueen/pseuds/redhairedqueen
Summary: He came to Sansa in darkness as green fire filled the sky.A different take on a common trope.





	She Stared Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first chapter of a much longer WIP, but I think it works well as a one-shot. 
> 
> Some text borrowed/modified from ACOK to draw more attention to what's different. I own nothing.
> 
> Thank you to [wandering_gypsy_feet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet) for betaing!

Sansa stood at her window, looking out at the horrible burning sky. The stars and the moon were swallowed up by swirls of green and orange, the reflection of the flames dancing across the water of the bay. While wildfire consumed the Blackwater, common flames lit parts of the city. The sight chilled her to her very core. 

  
Sansa backed away from the window, retreating to the safety of her bed. _I’ll go to sleep,_ she told herself, _and when I wake it will be a new day, and the sky will be blue again, and the fighting will be done._ She heard a creak and sensed movement behind her. She turned around slowly and saw Sandor Clegane’s hulking figure coming through her door.

  
“Little bird,” he rasped, “I knew you’d be here.” The door creaked a second time as he closed it behind himself. He walked toward her, surprisingly quietly for such a large man.

  
A flare of wildfire momentarily filled the room, illuminating his terrible burns shades of emerald and jade.

  
The Hound grabbed her wrist tightly. “If you scream, I’ll kill you. Believe that.” Now that they were closer, she had a chance to study him. He was covered in so much blood, dark as tar, and his eyes glowed white, full of fear. _The fire,_ she realized, _he’s afraid of the fire._ He reached for a flagon of wine with his other hand and took a long pull. He was drunk, very drunk. “Don’t you want to know who’s winning the battle, little bird?”

“Who?” she asked, too frightened to defy him.

  
He laughed. “I only know who’s lost. Me.”

  
“What have you lost?”

  
“All.” The burnt half of his face was a mask of dried blood. “Bloody dwarf. Should have killed him. Years ago.”

  
“He’s dead, they say.”

  
“Dead? No, bugger that. I don’t want him dead.” He cast the empty flagon aside. “I want him _burned_. If the gods are good, they’ll burn him, but I won’t be here to see. I’m going.”

  
“Going?” She tried to wriggle free, but his grasp was iron.

  
“The little bird repeats whatever she hears,” he mocked. “ _Going_ , yes.”

  
“Where will you go?”

  
“Away from here. Away from the fires. Go out the Iron Gate, I suppose. North somewhere, anywhere.”

  
“You won’t get out,” Sansa said. “The queen’s closed up Maegor’s, and the city gates are shut as well.”

  
“Not to me. I have the white cloak. And I have this.” He patted the pommel of his sword. “The man who tries to stop me is a dead man. Unless he’s on fire.” He laughed bitterly.

  
“Why did you come here?”

  
“You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?”

  
She couldn’t sing for him now, here, with the sky aswirl with fire and men dying in their hundreds and in their thousands. “I can’t,” she said, “not now. Let me go, you’re scaring me.”

  
“Everything scares you. Look at me. _Look_ at me.”

  
The blood masked the worst of his scars, but his eyes were white and wide and terrifying. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched and twitched again.

  
“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer and stared down at her with a frightening intensity. She stared back, unblinking. The next thing she knew, his cruel lips were pressed against her own. He tasted of sour wine and blood and sweat, and yet she found she had no desire to pull away. Encouraged, one of his hands found its way to the small of her back and held her tight against his large form; the other tangled itself in her hair, tilting her head up to deepen their kiss. When she parted her lips to grant entry to his tongue, he let out a deep groan. The noise sent an unfamiliar fluttering sensation to the pit of her stomach.

  
His hands were everywhere at once, exploring each and every curve of her body. They finally settled low on her waist and he pulled her hips into his. She stood up taller on her toes and threw her arms around his neck, relishing the feeling of having his strong arms holding her close.

  
After what could have been seconds or an hour, she broke their kiss and reached up to cup his burned cheek in her hand.

  
“You’re really leaving?” she asked. Sansa was flushed and breathless from kissing him, and slightly angry that he would just show up, kiss her like _that_ , and then abandon her. She hated to think that she may never feel this again. All those times she’d been afraid of him and failed to see what was right in front of her.

  
“Yes,” he rasped as he leaned his forehead against hers, “and I’m taking you with me, whether you will it or no. Pack a small bag and change into travel clothes. Something simple; we can’t have you running around looking like a bloody high-born lady. The road will be rough, make no mistake. There will be no silks or featherbeds, but I’ll keep you safe, little bird. I’ll keep you safe from all of them.”

  
She took a moment to absorb what he was saying. He meant to steal her away from King’s Landing, to rescue her like a true knight would a fair maiden in a song. His armor didn’t shine and his face wasn’t handsome, but he was her true knight nonetheless. She no longer wanted a golden prince. Sandor’s body was large and powerful against her slender figure; if he hadn’t bent down, her head would barely reach his shoulder even though she was a tall girl.

  
Sansa searched through her wardrobe and was relieved to find a relatively simple dress that wouldn’t draw too much attention. It was grey wool and although she’d brought it from Winterfell, it looked like it would fit her perfectly. She vaguely remembered that she had sewn it with room to grow. He walked to the other side of her chambers and kept his back to her to afford her some privacy while she changed clothes.

  
“Could you help me with the laces?” she asked shyly. He silently crossed the room and fumbled with the laces for a few moments before giving up and slicing them open with his dagger. He stood behind her for a moment, breathing heavily before turning his back to her once more. She let her gown fall to the floor. It was covered in blood and torn open, and she realized with a start what it would look like happened here when someone came looking for her in the morning.

  
Once she was dressed again, she made for a satchel next to her wardrobe and began to pack. “Only what you need,” he murmured.

  
She wasn’t sure where the satchel had come from and decided Dontos must have sent it so she could pack for their escape from King’s Landing. Sansa was much gladder to be leaving with the Hound. Dontos never would have been able to protect her, but the Hound was brave and strong and told her he would kill for her. _I bet Dontos has never truly fought anyone, she thought to herself. A drunken summer knight knowing only tourneys would be useless on the run. And he was even useless in tourneys._

  
Sansa dug through the drawers of her dressing table to find a small weirwood jewelry box her lord father had given her for her sixth name day. In it, she packed a silver comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl from the Trident that had belonged to her lady mother and a blue hair ribbon that had belonged to Arya even though she never wore it. It suited her well, but Sansa often found it discarded on the floor. Each time, Sansa picked it up and returned it to her room, not quite ready to give up on the idea that maybe, just maybe, Arya would settle down and become the sister she’d always wanted. She didn’t know how or when the ribbon had found its way to her dressing table, but she was glad it was there. Arya was waiting for her at Winterfell, she was sure of it. As an afterthought, she added a needle and some sturdy wool thread in case she needed to repair any holes in their clothing. “I’m coming home,” she whispered into the box before closing it and tucking it safely into her bag.

  
After packing the only other plain dress she owned and a second pair of stockings, Sansa buckled the satchel closed and turned to face the Hound. She was ready. _Or at least as ready as I’ll ever be._

  
“How will we get out of the city?” Sansa asked.

  
“We’ll go out the Iron Gate. I’ll kill anyone who isn’t us if they stand in our way. I’ll kill the bloody king if that’s what it takes to get you out of here,” the Hound said solemnly. She looked at him searchingly, trying to detect any hint of reservation, but found none.

  
“Tie back your hair and pull up your hood, girl. No one can know it’s you,” he said as he ran his fingers through her hair. “Do you trust me?” 

  
She paused for a moment before nodding yes. She would have to trust him; she had no other choice. 

  
“If anyone asks, you’re a scullery maid and my prize for the night.” His eyes were not so white anymore. They were now wide and dark and there was a glint in them as he looked her up and down. “Keep your head low and say nothing. Stay close.” He took her hand in his and led her out of her chambers into the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

  
They encountered two guards at the drawbridge and for a moment she thought they meant to stop them from leaving. Instead, they both leered at her and it made her skin crawl. She wondered if they were Lannisters she’d never met before, for they looked frighteningly like Joffrey. One was tall, much taller than Joff would ever be, and slim as a pole. The other was shorter and covered in blood. It looked as though his nose had nearly been sliced off in battle. Sansa kept her head down as he’d told her, the torches and her hood casting a shadow across her face. 

  
“Found yourself a sweet little reward for the battle now, did ya now, Hound?” 

  
Sandor threw an arm around her waist possessively and squeezed her to him so firmly that she almost had trouble breathing. “Piss off, she’s mine,” he growled. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest as she realized what they were suggesting. “And it’s no business of yours what I do with her in my bed tonight.” His voice was gruff and much deeper than it had been before. 

  
“Alright mate, we won’t stand between you and that cunt of yours any longer,” the second guard said as he lowered the drawbridge for them. He laughed a wicked laugh and the Hound wrapped a second arm around her waist as if trying to shield her from their wandering eyes. 

  
Once the drawbridge was down, he scooped her up around the waist and quickly carried her out of Maegor’s Holdfast. Sansa buried her face in his chest lest they look too long and recognize her. 

  
“Fuck her an extra time for each of us!” one of the guards called after them. “Hard!” The Hound growled in response and the guards laughed once more. Sansa blushed.

  
“Sorry, little bird,” he murmured as soon as they were out of sight of the guards. “That was the only way they wouldn’t suspect anything.” She nodded silently in understanding, remembering what Cersei had said about men after battles. He had kissed her and wanted her song, but Sandor Clegane was not a raper and wouldn’t hurt her; he only had to make a show of it for the other men. 

  
He strapped on their saddlebags and then helped her mount his fearsome black warhorse. “I’ll not risk getting separated, little bird,” he whispered to her after settling into the saddle behind her. “I love you and I won’t let anyone take you away from me.” 

  
Tears started started pooling in her eyes. “I love you, too.” She gave him a chaste kiss before he put on his wolf’s-head helm and then squeezed her eyes shut as they rode through the city. The Hound had one hand on the reins and his sword in the other. She knew he’d cut down several men on their way to the Iron Gate, but was scared to see the carnage around them. Even without looking, it was difficult to ignore the fires raging around them, the insides of her eyelids glowing green and orange, and then green again.

  
Once she dared open them again, she was was terrified by what she saw. There were dead bodies everywhere, drunk men shouting, and fire. So much fire. The fire scared even her and she hadn’t even been burned.  _He’s willing to brave the fire to rescue me,_ she realized. _Like a hero in a song saving his fair maiden from danger._  In spite of the battle surrounding them, she felt oddly happy. She knew that they would make it out of the city and north to Winterfell. So long as she was with Sandor, she would be safe.

  
Her vision grew fuzzy and she heard the distant sound of a dog barking. She clung to Sandor as he led their horse through the streets of King’s Landing. The Gate of the Gods was within sight but the mob was closing in on them, grabbing her. They wanted to pull her down off of Stranger and kill her. “Please don’t let me go,” she cried.

  
“Never, little bird.” He gave her a gentle squeeze before slicing the arm off of a soldier charging toward them. She wasn’t sure if the soldier fought for the king or Stannis Baratheon, but it made no matter. Sandor was taking her away from all of them and that man had stood in their way. The green sky began to lighten and footsteps approached, softer than the others. The owner of these feet was in no hurry and only audible because the battle was growing quieter, fading into the distance. Terror set in, though she knew she should be relieved the battle was behind them. Somehow there was a new danger, threatening to tear her away from her Hound no matter how tightly they held each other. The footsteps grew louder and closer still.

  
“My sweet Alayne.” Her eyes fluttered open to see Petyr Baelish standing over her bed, grinning down at her. The old blind dog was curled up at her feet and barked once more. “Come now, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you figured it out, let me know which part tipped you off. I tucked in a bunch of little things and am curious to see which ones people caught. I believe there are 11 total and if you think you've spotted at least 7, message me on [tumblr](https://redxhairedxqueen.tumblr.com/) and I'll give you a sneak peak of where this story is going.
> 
> Comments inspire me to keep writing :)


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